


Done With You, part 2

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-14
Updated: 2008-08-14
Packaged: 2018-11-20 20:33:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11342709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Want to see Dean breaking?





	Done With You, part 2

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** Knife-play, dubious con, bloodsport.no one dies though.

  
Author's notes: Knife-play, dubious con, bloodsport.no one dies though.   


* * *

Done With You, part 2

## Done With You, part 2

### by Griva

##### [Story Headers]

  


**DONE WITH YOU**  
part 2   
Rated: R   
Same warnings apply: knife-play, dubious con, bloodsport...no one dies though. 

Beta: by lovely Sue aka candygramme 

* * *

Some time later 

When Krycek came back, opening the heavy door, the sound jerked Dean back to awareness. He shifted where he sat, trying draw up his legs with little result. Rolled his head on his shoulders, trying to relieve the strain of his immobile shoulders. There was no more fresh blood on his thigh. 

Dean's eyes were fixed on Krycek's prosthetic with obscene intensity again. Krycek had taken off his heavy jacket, wearing only a black long sleeved undershirt. It made the defect more obvious, his imperfection, next to Dean, more striking. Krycek took such attention as a given. Anger had long ago been replaced with resignation. He had learnt to value what he'd been left with. 

The coil of intercom curled around his ear, but he was no longer carrying his gun. In his good arm Krycek had a bottle of water and a wad of paper tissues. 

"I've...been nice." Dean was the first to speak. He breathed heavily through his mouth as his nose was crusted with coagulating blood. "Can I go now?" 

Krycek shook his head. 

"Not yet." 

Dean nodded stiffly with a wry grimace, the sag of his shoulders acknowledging that he hadn't anticipated such an easy way out of this. 

"You have a history I find fascinating, I need to know more." 

Dean looked up in question. 

"So...you dig up corpses for kicks? Nice fetish. And I thought mine were weird." Krycek's tone was flippant, trying to ease Dean into a more constructive conversation. The tidbits he had just learnt about Dean painted the picture of a guy who wouldn't have stayed alive and free if he was obtuse. 

"Let me guess... you like to cuff and torture people?" Dean gave him that washed out grin again. 

// The kid will bust his gut at trying to look smart and tough.// 

"Nobody pays attention till you tie them up." Krycek applied all his willpower towards keeping a straight face as he spoke. 

"You're...obviously getting a kick out of this," Dean scowled, but uttered not without sarcasm. He made his voice work despite the dryness in his throat. He tried not to, but couldn't resist eyeing the water hungrily. 

Krycek opened the bottle, splashed some water on the paper tissues, wiping Dean's chin and nose with his hand, despite Dean's sputtering and attempts to avoid it. 

// Oh yeah, that's humiliating. Learn to live with it. // 

Dean did not look much cleaner after he'd finished, but at least he could breathe freely. 

Next the bottle was pressed up hard against his lips. 

"N-no thanks." Dean rasped. His voice belied the effort it cost to deny what he obviously wanted so badly. 

At that Krycek shrugged, put the bottle to his own lips and took a good gulp. Then he showed Dean the bottle with about half of the liquid left. 

"Your fault that's all you get. It's not dosed." 

This time Dean swallowed all to the last drop as Krycek tipped the bottle against Dean's mouth. 

"Can I have a nurse, to give me a backrub?" Dean's request bounced back off Krycek's blank face. 

// I'm good at rubbing. A pity there is no chance you'll find out.// 

The basic outline of Dean's personality was quite clear: he was obviously proud. From pride came cockiness. When he was afraid, he attacked, even if his only weapons were words he could hurl at his assailants. This was a dysfunctional defense mechanism, it would glitch eventually when you found the right button to press to make him shut up. Then he would break. Krycek loved breaking things, and provided he had some things to learn from Dean, he wouldn't miss a chance to test his knowledge of human nature 

Dean winced and looked at his leg as Krycek tugged at the belt, loosening the pressure on the wound. It hurt, but it was merely a flesh wound. Krycek's eyes strayed upwards. Dean swallowed, then shifted as if he could draw up his spread legs, his chest hollowed under the scrutiny. His lips thinned with the effort of not reacting to the indignity of his clothes in shreds, tied up in the presence of a fully clothed man. 

"Where is that puppy-eyed brother of yours?" Krycek asked as if by the way, still holding Dean's wary gaze. 

"Far enough," Dean said with stress. Krycek noted that he managed to sound almost not taken aback when he mentioned the bit of personal info he had just discovered, running a check. The man had more self-control than Krycek expected. 

"I bet you wish he was here?" 

"You _bet_ ," Dean responded. He fixed his eyes on a stain on the opposite wall. Without warning Krycek swayed almost into his face. Dean flinched, instinctively preparing to be struck. Krycek did not touch him. 

// I could beat you to bloody pulp. But that won't make you open up.// 

"He knows about your bust?" He took a fistful of Dean's hair again, fingers tightening in their short length. That much Krycek'd already learnt: Dean reacted more strongly to signs of domination and power than to direct physical abuse. 

No response. Dean squeezed his eyes shut as the pain in his scalp registered from the effort he attributed resisting the pull at his hair. 

"Does he?" Krycek jerked Dean's head back to maintain the eye contact. He wished he could use his second hand to grasp Dean's chin and keep him in place. 

"No." 

"I can always check. You can give him a call." Krycek suggested amicably. He enjoyed watching Dean's pupils dilate and go narrow as anger and understanding swapped with pain and fear, and then go another full round. 

"No," Dean raised his cracked voice. "We are not...in this together." Then on a softer note, "Leave him...out of it." 

Dean looked away again, aware of how quickly he had given himself up. It was a weak point laid bare, but Krycek had little use for it, since he might need at least a day to find the other man. 

If Sam Winchester was here, his older brother might have talked in a different manner entirely. Krycek wondered idly how Dean sounded if one made him beg. For anything. He reminded himself not to get distracted. The guy certainly had appeal in spades, but also two guns on him, not to mention a psychotic pal on nation wide search as company. 

"You said, Gordon told you," Krycek proceeded. "Was he giving you an order?" 

// Maybe there is a whole bunch of crazy heads like you out there?// 

"I don't take no one's orders," Dean said with scorn, and Krycek bit the inside of his cheek. Here was another pure, first-hand reaction for him to file. 

// Everybody says so. Every little stubborn solider like you. You just don't notice the strings attached.// 

"You knew that Gordon had seven homicides on his record? Two underage?" This could become a long conversation, Krycek looked at his watch, sitting down next to Dean. He'd already told Leon he would need at least an hour without any disturbance. 

"They were not human," Dean answered, confidently, and no act of violence had prompted him to speak this time. 

"Oh..." Krycek quirked his lips in surprise. He propped himself on his fake arm, caught Dean's eyes lingering on the handle of the knife that was protruding from his sleeve. This was a very handy trick of his. He could pull out the knife from behind the strap on a shirt cuff twice as quickly. "Who were they? Aliens?" 

At that Dean gave him a genuine _are you crazy?_ look. 

"They were vampires." 

Krycek looked away briefly, interested. Intrigued. Here is another man with an open mind. He wished he'd met Freckles under different circumstances. They could have discussed all things supernatural, and he would take Dean's word for it, would ask him to lure in a vampire, and who knew...where they'd end up - drunk, and high and horny. 

"Okay. Vampires. Fine. I won't split hairs." Then his voice dropped, the sigh of regret was artfully masked. He was back to business again. "I'm not a cop. I want to know are there others like you? And what's your part in this?" 

Dean's bloodied lips tightened, his look turned stony again. He still tried to avoid eye contact when Krycek was not compelling him, and it was starting to tire Krycek. He had to fire his biggest canon to finally make Dean understand he was not just a wanna-be Nazi, doing this for kicks. He had actually dug up a shitload of facts about Dean Winchester that made his brows rise. 

"I could not believe my eyes when I saw that the case in St. Lois was closed, the main perp declared dead. He looked...quite like you. Only better." Krycek said slowly. Saw comprehension dawn, another crack in the protective shield run awry. Yes, he could reach that deep with his check in such a short period of time. When Dean's lips parted as a sign of attention, Krycek added for effect, "According to the record, you're already dead. You realize how that _simplifies_ my problem?" 

The implicating silence hung heavy in the cool air of the gray concrete room. Krycek waited. He could allow that. 

Nobody had to know. Nobody would know, because nobody gave a damn about what happened to a lone guy - hunter or whatever he called himself - except maybe for his brother ... and he'd never find out either. Not for sure, anyway. 

"Your wolfpup of a brother won't ever learn a thing about what's happened to you, either." 

// You are fucked. You know that. So speak, goddamn you.// 

The look Dean gave him came close to apprehensive for the first time. 

"I'm a hunter. We seek...weird things. Lyle said there were more...skinwalkers here." The three sentences took him an effort to force past his lips. 

Krycek paused to think. Finally he was starting to get a grasp of what sounded as if Dean was speaking in a different language to him. The unfortunate gang had managed to trace back several bounty hunters to the Base. Krycek always insisted they should be more careful. He wasn't the person most dedicated to the Syndicate, but he'd been paid well to do his job, and he'd warned them. But they would not listen to an annoying human. 

,,So what? You had to play fetch for Gordon? If you managed to kill a couple of innocent labrats in your path, would you have the nerve to blame it on some kind of "supernatural" entity? That freak would have written it off as a casualty?" 

Krycek had to cut himself short in what looked like waxing morality. No one from the labs had been hurt. It looked like no one except Leon and the two other guards watching the surveillance cameras had even noticed anything. 

Dean stayed quiet. Goddamn. 

,,Now tell me, what kind of sick nutcase am I dealing with here?" 

More quiet. If Dean only tried to give him a pointer he really wanted out of the fix. 

"What's your score?" He asked. Casual. So casual. As if he really did not care a flying fuck about the Freckles being a homicidal freak. 

"I don't kill people." Having said that, Dean seemed to fold into himself. 

Krycek suddenly realized that he did not know where to jump from here. He seemed to have learnt the basics. Dean was a loner. He did not seem to present serious potential danger. Unless he decided to come back, and Krycek had a preventive measure against that. But he just could not let it drop. He wanted to know more. 

// Didn't Daddy teach you well enough? To stay away from freaks? To plan ahead? This... was worse than stupid. You were unprepared, off your game and out in the open. Unless... You were trying to prove something to that Gordon?// 

"From what I scraped up at first glance, your father was quite a top dog." The Consortium database had a short but exciting dossier on the so called "demon hunter." There was just a curt note dating back to 1998 that JW had two teenage sons. The puppies had grown into fine men. The old man himself was presumed dead. That was a relief, Krycek noted. "Impressive connections. You try to walk in his shoes, it clarifies some things." 

"Followed close enough to put you crippled bitch where you belong if you`d let me," Dean spat, looking up sharply. 

At that Krycek stiffened. If he let himself react on the first impulse, Dean would have a nice wet hole instead of a nose. Oh yeah. Mentioning Daddy hurt a lot. Why? Maybe that's why Dean had to behave like he was in a Die Hard movie. As if it proved anything to anyone except himself. 

"Have you no self-preservation instinct?" Krycek inquired almost softly. "Why do you have to antagonize the man who holds the key to the cuffs?" 

"Because you are no man. You're a sick stuck-up bastard. I could beat you...with one hand if you'd let me," Dean had to force himself to hold his gaze steady, to not look away as he spoke. 

Krycek bared his teeth at that and rose to his feet. He felt rage swelling in his throat, making it hard to breathe. He might have tolerated being pitied...but not being bullied. 

Dean was looking up at him from the floor with bright, stabbing eyes. Goose bumps covered Dean's bare arm, and his throat moved hard when he swallowed. He could hurl insults like stones at his tormentor, but his body language sent out totally different signals. His nerves had started to kick in. And rightly so. 

// Say `sorry', Freckles. That might be your only chance. But I bet you don't even know how it's spelt.// 

Krycek brought his hand to his face, rubbed his chin. 

"Know what? Up to this moment, you were just part of my job. Nothing personal." Krycek took off the earpiece and shut it down. Shoved it in the pocket of his pants. "Now...some of your corners need to be clipped off. Your Daddy would have done the same." 

Immediately Dean's eyes flared up, he glared murder at Krycek, saying under his breath something that might've been _fucking sonofabitch._

Krycek stepped across Dean's open legs and went to his knees, sitting down, pressing down on Dean's shins, robbing the other man of motion. Dean tried to kick him off, but he was in pain and restrained, and Krycek was heavy. 

Krycek let his hand rest on Dean's unhurt thigh. The muscles moved under his palm as Dean started at the touch. He almost looked relieved, expecting more pain, expecting Krycek to stick the knife into his fresh wound again or make a new one. 

Krycek savored the moment, raking his eyes over Dean from head to knees, slowly and deliberately. 

Pain did not work. Dean might have been trained against it. Humiliation would. 

Krycek quirked his brow, holding Dean's fixed stare and then grabbed the other man by the balls, fingers digging in a cruel, slightly twisting motion. 

// What I love about my job, it makes me take matters directly in my hands.// 

Dean yelped loudly, the muscles bunching in his arms as he pulled at the restrains, trying to close his legs, choking on what could be curses or groans or both as Krycek continued to squeeze. The thrashing only intensified the pain from the wound in his thigh. His face was delicious agony that did not go away immediately when Krycek released his grip after a few moments. 

Before Dean recovered, tiny keening sounds still making it past his lips, Krycek undid the buttons of Dean's fly and pulled down at the waistband. Without the belt, it was loose and within seconds Krycek had full access to Dean's crotch. 

"You sick fuck," Dean muttered as soon as he was able to speak, swallowing thickly. His hips moved, stomach drawn in as he instinctively, but ineffectively tried to prevent exposure. He still tried to hold it together like a tough guy should, but his eyes were sweeping the whole room desperately again and again as if looking for the tiniest crack in the wall through which he could slip away. 

"Now you'll tell a different story," Krycek touched Dean's dick through his underwear with the hard plastic of his left hand. He felt a small shudder pass through the body under him as Dean gulped air, and looked down at the intrusion. When their looks crossed again, Dean shook his head slowly, the silent plea against more pain. 

Oh yeah. If this would not work, Dean would have to be a shape shifter. 

"I...told you the truth. About... the hunt. And Gordon." 

Krycek just watched him, expectantly. A small nod prompted for more. 

"I've not known him...for long. But yeah...he had issues, was a bit...on the violent side. He told me, he trusted Lyle." Dean spoke quickly as Krycek's plastic fist remained resting in close proximity to his crotch. "Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot before." Dean added quickly as his confession caused no immediate reaction in Krycek. 

Krycek stretched the pause. Maybe he would hear an apology. Dean licked his cracked lips. The smears of blood on his face and neck would have made someone else look repulsive. It only added ferocious streak to Dean's exquisite features. 

"Whom...do I have to suck off to get out of here?" Dean asked next. His voice was rough, his self-possession, amazingly, almost intact for a man in his state. Dean cocked his head and tried to shrug as if it was commonplace. There was a tremor in his limbs, the reminder of pain as his eyes shifted, searching Krycek's face for some reaction. 

Krycek took a slow, deep breath. He had not seen this coming. 

// Now now, Alex Jr. Just stay "down". You're better trained than this.// 

"I know...this shit makes you all hard and heavy." Dean had sensed him falter immediately, cutting straight to the chase. His eyes, dark and deep, suddenly `different' with knowledge, bore into Krycek's. He knew. Such a face could cover, and apparently did, a multitude of sins. Krycek's own face was a constant reminder of the same. He saw it in the mirror every day. 

He was only human, and there were temptations everywhere, from the neighbor's new Yamaha bike, Krycek's coveted new crotch rocket, way back when he was a teen, right up to now, and his search for the vaccine against an alien virus. 

Krycek put his thumb onto Dean's closed lips, pressed till he bumped against the hard ridge of Dean's teeth, then pressed down, prompting Dean to open his mouth, and stay on display. The struggle between his dignity and exigency was revealing itself as a tormented flicker on Dean's face. His pale skin was flushed, the pink splotches on his cheeks accentuating the deep, hazel color of his thickly lashed eyes. His lips felt exactly as they looked. 

_Lush._

Krycek realized he was holding his breath as if he could not have enough of the Freckles. 

This was obscene. He could come on the spot from this. Oh yeah. 

But he would not let himself take up Dean on his offer. 

Krycek didn't mind killing, had no trouble torturing or double-crossing whenever he deemed it necessary, but he'd never developed a taste for rape. And that's what it would be, fucking the face of this beaten, scared, tied up kid. It smacked too much of acknowledging failure, or impotence, to take with force what he usually had little effort getting for free. 

Maintaining the unruffled fa?ade required immense willpower now. It took Krycek some effort to keep his voice from wavering as he spoke, 

"There's a time and place for offers like that. Your time was up." 

Fuck, the guy was a pistol. Kryck might have lost his finger if he wasn't fast. Dean butted forward in attempt to bite his hand. 

"Mmmm. Not used to taking no for an answer?" Krycek gripped Dean's chin again hard, this time without any innuendoes, digging his fingers deep. 

"You just don't know what you're missing, you sonofasickbitch," Dean grimaced, hot breath hitting Krycek's face. 

"I'm on duty." Krycek's grin was sharp, then he cut back to business, drawing the line. "I don`t give a flying fuck what you hunt, while you're off my ground. But I'll teach you a lesson. Next time you're in a fix, learn to control that big mouth, little soldier." 

Dean did not flinch, didn't move, only his eyes speaking for him. It took Krycek's breath away, the emotions in those eyes. All for him. It was almost flattering. But he was a greedy man, he wanted more. In the next five minutes Krycek was determined to witness every aspect the hunter had to offer. 

Dean went entirely still when the tip of the blade cut the elastic of his briefs. 

"Take it like a _man_ ," Krycek could not help but stress the last word as he pushed the shreds of fabric away. 

Dean thought otherwise. He rose up with a grunt to meet his face half-way, straining forward, as close as he could get to his nemesis. There was a manic glint to the hunter's eyes as he held Krycek's hard stare. 

"You...want to kill me, then just kill me. Because if you do what your sick mind wants, and then you let me go...I will find you, even if you're twenty feet under, and then even the Devil won't protect you, you rabid, motherfucking fuck," Dean spoke rapidly, through his bloodied teeth. 

"Calm down. I'm not going to castrate you." Krycek snorted, sat back. "But--" his bad hand pressed harder into Dean's groin,"--if you keep yelling, you will direct unwanted attention. You would like to keep this between the two of us, wouldn't you?" 

Dean's face registered pure, unadulterated shock for a moment. 

"Keep... _what_?" His gaze was searching, eyes wide. 

"You have scars here," without more ado, Krycek pointed at Dean's left pec, above the nipple. His voice was detached and gravely again. "Knife-work. Self-inflicted?" 

Dean did not deign to answer. He tried not to let it show how the sudden change of topic daunted him. When Krycek touched the white mark, he pushed away from the touch, but had only the wall to lean on. 

"I asked you a question." Krycek made a short pause between every word, the inflection of the last word a hint that Dean couldn't possibly be stupid enough to resist Krycek's questions again. 

"I did it. I." Dean's voice came out low, exhausted. Short hair was plastered to his sweaty forehead. There were darker, tender shadows forming under his eyes. 

"Why?" 

"For the kicks." 

"You get off on pain?" Krycek could not hide the incredulous tone. 

Dean shook his head slowly. 

"Why cut then? Guilt?" Krycek offered. "Anger? Failure?" 

Dean did not answer. It meant Krycek was probably right on all three. 

// This is exactly what I need. You must be in real need of a good blade and a steady hand right now.// 

"Give it to me." Krycek thought it was a dark voice from the depth of his mind that spoke. He did think it was the hum of his blood, in his ears, echoing the dull, painful throb in his groin. 

"Did you...just say something?" Krycek asked Dean softly. Dean's face still gave little away, but his eyes were another story. His eyes wanted. Much as they might want you to believe otherwise. 

Shame was rising in Dean's face, as if he was bleeding under his skin. His bewildered eyes... were deep and liquid, like they could suck you in, force you to feel...something that Krycek thought he had smothered at the very beginning. Endure, swallow, survive had been ingrained into him. It hadn't always been like that. When he had finally dared to look at his own face in the hospital mirror, naked from the waist up, and seen the empty space where a part of him once had been. He'd felt desperate. Defenseless. He couldn't return to that moment. Couldn't stand being reminded of it. 

Krycek looked away for a second, asked himself if he truly needed to go on as he'd planned. Trained to make decisions fast, he didn't linger or agonize about what to do. He picked up the blade from the floor. 

When Krycek touched the blade to Dean's chest, Dean went entirely motionless. But his breath was coming harsh and fast. The tip cut the skin, it was almost imperceptible to Dean, nothing registered on his face. Krycek watched the first tiny beads of blood form, like juice on the apple you bit hard. He drew the next line, vertical, from Dean's nipple, down to the bump of his third rib. 

"Son...son of a..." Dean's eyelids fluttered, chest heaving as the pain settled in. 

"Knew you'd say that." Krycek stated matter of factly. He couldn't help but look down, at the soft, pale curl of the younger man's dick. 

"You want to feel me up...you'll have to cut deeper." Alex started as Dean spoke, his voice hoarse and catching in his throat. Dean seemed close to blacking out again, his eyes defocused, but he shook his head as if it helped to clear his thoughts. 

He must be really losing it. 

"Say...again?" 

Krycek slid his hand up to fit perfectly in the vulnerable underside of Dean's jaw, and Dean's head tilted back obligingly, Dean's eyes sliding shut. He did not try to tilt his head down, just flickered his eyes at Krycek's face from beneath his lashes, their breathing both loud and arrhythmic. Alex saw his dick stir. He slid his hand slow, from Dean's neck to cup his shoulder, fingers digging deep, sliding down to put a hand on his crotch. 

"Just...shoot me fast when we're done," Dean mumbled. His throat moved spastically as he exhaled, blood running rich and red beneath his skin. "You've already got me laid out like a bitch, and begging." 

"I'm not going to kill you." Alex said slowly. "I'll let you go." 

// I seldom make promises. So I allow myself the luxury of keeping them from time to time.// 

"Yeah right!" The husky, sharp sound that made past Dean's lips must have been a chuckle. "My luck's been a bitch all day. Pull the other one." 

"Each of us is somebody's bitch," Krycek pressed the bloodied blade flat to Dean's lips. He felt the shudder whip through the other man at that. Dean closed his eyes again, the small vein under his left eye throbbed frantically. 

"Life's fucking law." Krycek leaned in, less than an inch between his own lips, and the blade. "You must know that. All the pretty things get broken...eventually." Dean's eyes sucked in his look at this, as if he was trying to penetrate into Krycek's skull, drink in his churning thoughts, guess what he was hiding. 

"Speaking...from experience?" Dean's eyes shifted to his stiff shoulder again. Krycek nodded. The steel was ice against his skin, the flat of the blade sliding over the sweat on his chest, slipping slowly lower, promise of blood in every breath he took, every look they shared. He had no idea what Dean thought had happened to him, but he felt that something just solidified between them. Something crucial. Dean swallowed, tried to mouth something, his chest heaved in another attempt to rise, to move closer to Krycek. 

"Settle down." Krycek advised softly. "Or my hand might miss." 

With the next pass of the knife, he went off limits, from the navel, across the soft, paper thin skin of Dean's stomach. This was `high class'. A little more pressure, a slip of his fingers, Dean would end up with his guts spilled on the floor. 

Dean gasped again, audibly. The helplessness of the sound ripped through Alex, making his own body tingle and ache, mirroring what was happening to his dick. He had never felt a rush like he was feeling now, never felt such intoxicating power over anything as reckless and arrogant and fucking gorgeous as this man. He had never invested so much effort in not hurting the man too much, when his direct task was to hurt. 

Dean's shoulders folded inward, created a seam in his chest. His head dropped in what Krycek first took for a pain contortion but suddenly realized was Dean trying to look at what was being done to him as close as possible. His cuffed arms were preventing him from doubling over. 

,,This...is new, right? Never this close? The hand was not steady enough?" Krycek just hazarded a wild guess, but it went to his head like a generous shot of vodka. "You...or your brother?" 

// What have you done to him? What he did to you?// 

Instead of an answer, Dean threw his head back, so it thudded dully against the wall. The widepupiled eyes swept open drunkenly, unfocused. Krycek slapped his cheek, gently. "C'mon, look at me. Breathe slowly, not so fast." 

Next thing he knew, his hand was running carefully through Dean's damp hair and along the backs of his ears. 

"You're doing real good." Krycek said softly. "Don't just go and mess it all up now. Simply tell me, Dean." The low voice growled, "I can make you come like this?" the blade was a presence against his navel, his pulse pounding out the plea for more-more-more. Krycek could feel it with his own skin, damp shirt sticking to his neck, he ripped the collar open. 

"Yes," was barely a wisp of air that Krycek caught with his lips, the way he'd catch a raindrop. 

The knife slid onto the floor, redundant. Krycek petted him, slow, bare hand over the skin. 

Dean gasped, shuddered his hips pushed forward, his dick sliding through Krycek' grip, voice stuttering from a "Don't," into something that burnt and blurred into Krycek's ears as a whispered "Please," and Krycek twisted his fingers, tightening right below the head of his cock. 

Dean's short cry sounded just the same as when Krycek had pulled the stick out of his thigh - helpless agony. His body bucked and rolled, and Krycek's grip tightened, fingers twisting in practiced familiarity on slick skin. Another twist nad pull and Dean came, hot and slippery...teeth sunk deep in the chapped, bloody lower lip, breath steamy in the cool room. 

"Mmmmmmmm. It was perfect," Krycek whispered into Dean's damp, sweet smelling hair. The other man still shuddered under his hand. Dean's breath rattled in his throat as he swallowed, riding out the last wave of pain and adrenaline induced high. With his hand, Krycek pressed Dean's hot, damp face to his chest. Dean's eyes remained squeezed shut, as if he had a problem opening his eyes. Krycek kept stroking his cheek with his thumb, absently watching the thin, bright lines of blood pooling in Dean's abdomen. 

Next he noticed a tear sliding out of the corner of Dean's eye, and the heaving of his chest was a rough, raw sob that Dean tried desperately to swallow. 

"Holy fuuuuuck," Krycek cursed in full voice, it bounced off the walls, startling him. The sense of power rushed through him like heroin, till he was shaking with it, strong with it. Hard with it. He wanted to spread the man open and bang him like a bitch. To sneak away and jerk himself off brutally in some secluded corner till his knees buckled. 

He dragged his cum-stained hand to Dean's throat instead. Before Dean tried to draw back, wrench his head out of Krycek's grip, Krycek went for his throat, pressing on the familiar spot, pulse beating a wild tattoo on the jugular. Dean tensed, his mouth and eyes opening wide. He tried to buck Krycek in the chin, his whole exhausted body rising with the effort to break free. Krycek pressed harder, closing his eyes against the wordless plea for life of the broken man under his hand. In several heartbeats Dean went still, boneless in Krycek's grip. He released his fingers slowly, Dean's head lolled on his shoulders. 

Krycek surveyed the wreckage of the man on his lap, then swallowed thickly, leaned in and kissed, mouth wide and hungry on the damp temple. The briefest contact of his lips with Dean's skin translated into a shocked surge through his blood, tightening his limbs and flushing through his skin, high-alert. 

God, he hurt. Everything hurt. He wanted to take his skin off. He wanted his arm back, and his cock loose and a touch, anywhere. His fist clenched helplessly. 

Red light. Oh, right. Stop. 

Somebody's coming. 

He hardly managed to draw back and shot up heavily as the door banged opened. Leon peeked in. What he saw was the immobile man splayed on the floor, his chest bloody and his groin bare. 

"What?" Krycek snapped sharply, still breathless. And there he'd thought unconscious people didn't turn him on. He stood with his back to Leon, concealing his own heavy crotch. 

"Jesus fuck!" Leon peered at Dean from behind Krycek's back, then back at Krycek. "They said you were efficient." 

"You heard right." 

"You shut down the connection. I thought...I'd better check on you. Both." Leon cleared his throat, hand resting on the butt of his rifle. 

Thank you. It warms my heart to know you care. Can I shoot you now? 

"You brought what I asked for?" Krycek straightened his shirt, felt sweat running in rivulets down his spine. But he was sobering up quickly. The sudden intrusion had made his dick go down a bit, and he turned face to Leon. 

"Yeah. This from Marvin. You owe him a hundred bucks." Leon took a capped syringe filled with light blue liquid from his pocket and gave it Krycek. 

"Thank you. I will remember that," Krycek said. 

"I hope you will," Leon noted. He stepped back, folded his arms on his chest and avoided looking at the floor. 

Krycek unlocked the cuffs, uncapped the syringe, found a vein in the crook of Dean's limp arm, propping his body upright against the wall. When he'd finished the injection with an ease that betrayed some practice, he tucked the syringe in his pocket. 

"This shit, it really works?" Lion inquired. 

"Yeah. Gives a memory loss of eight to twelve hours, depending on the body weight and neurological activity of the brain." 

"What of his buddies?" 

"That's not my problem any more," Krycek shrugged. "Clean everything up. As if it never was. No one will come looking." 

"Sure?" 

Leon's eyes darted behind Krycek's back, then returned to Krycek's. Krycek let his brow rise a notch, and Leon looked away, not questioning the veracity of what he must have learnt from the captive. 

"What about him?" 

Krycek looked at the body at his feet. There was one thing he had not thought through properly. He had to think about it. 

"Get his clothes. And the guns. I'll get rid of him." Krycek shrugged. 

// I think I'm gonna keep him. For a while.// 

Besides, there was someone else he knew who might be interested in meeting Dean Winchester. 

/end

  
 

* * *

Post a comment  
or read posted comments on this story. 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Title:   **Done With You, part 2**   
Author:  Griva   [email/website]   
Details:   **Standalone**  |  **R**  |  **33k**  |  **08/14/08**   
Pairings:  Crossover Pairing  |  Alex Krycek / Dean Winchester   
Category:  Story, AU (Alternate Universe), Crossover  |  X Files / Supernatural   
Summary:  Want to see Dean breaking?   
Notes:  Knife-play, dubious con, bloodsport.no one dies though.   
  
  
[top of page] 


End file.
